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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27254221">Right Down the Line</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldgreydawn/pseuds/coldgreydawn'>coldgreydawn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Thick of It (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>British Politics, Children, Competent Nicola Murray, Divorce, F/M, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Forced Marriage, Infidelity, London, Parliament (UK), Politics, Swearing, These Two Are A Hot Mess, United Kingdom, and maybe if he'd had a wee crush, and of course they all remained themselves and fucked it all up, but at least they're hot, but they clean up nice, coworkers to lovers to friends to spouses to parents?, domesticated Malcolm Tucker (by force), parenting, that sounds about right, the way things could have gone if Malcolm had capitalized on her potential</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 00:42:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,766</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27254221</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldgreydawn/pseuds/coldgreydawn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“And seeing him like that, as an actual person, had given her a little, almost voyeuristic thrill. It was like she’d stopped at his home after hours and found him rumpled and domestic in a ‘FELLATE THE COOK’ apron. And it suited him so well that she realised that this was the real Malcolm, not the angry harbinger of doom that Whitehall forced him to be.”</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>An AU in which Nicola divorces James after Eastbourne, Malcolm takes her under his wing and tries to make something of her as a Minister, and she and Malcolm rekindle what they started in Eastbourne. But it’s not long before everything goes pear-shaped and they have to choose the one thing that’ll keep them employed and out of the tabloids.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Nicola Murray/Malcolm Tucker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Right Down the Line</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nicola Murray was walking on air. And while part of it was the drink which she’d been imbibing since after the speech, another part was being on her own in an unfamiliar town with no kids or husband to bother her. And another part entirely was the fact that for the first time in, well, her entire tenure so far, they’d actually managed to weather a crisis and come out smelling like roses. Well, maybe not roses. Carnations? Either way, it was something to celebrate, even if it was only the Party conference.</p><p>And the fourth, most unnerving and yet exciting reason for her mood was the way Malcolm Tucker, still wearing that fucking tuxedo, was looking at her.</p><p>It was late now, sometime into the wee hours. Glenn had headed to bed hours before, complaining of a headache. Nicola hoped fervently that Malcolm hadn’t given him a concussion. That was the last thing they needed. It wasn’t like Glenn had much cognitive ability to lose.</p><p>She was with Malcolm and Ollie in her semi-dark hotel room, other Party types and the few hacks they were still on good terms with having left hours ago. The three of them were now consigned to sitting around talking politics and other, stupider things, like Terri’s fucking diabetic dog and various toiletries that had been laid out in Glenn’s hotel room toilet.</p><p>And they were <em>drunk</em>. Drunk off hotel bar mojitos, the free wine the Party had been passing around at the dinner, cans of strong lager that Ollie had brought, and random bottles of hard liquor they'd found in other people’s rooms.</p><p>Malcolm was well in his cups, which was a sight to see. She’d never seen him drunk before. She was fairly certain that he tried to avoid it, and she wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d had a problem with it in his past.</p><p>Or, it could just be that he only ever let that control slip when he knew every problem had been put to bed and he could actually enjoy himself for a little while.</p><p>And to the untrained eye he seemed to be simply enjoying himself tonight. She doubted one could tell the man had put away five whiskies in two hours, two glasses of red and several cans of Ollie’s awful beer. His Scottish constitution was strong, but Nicola could see the changes in him.</p><p>His movements were looser and more natural, as was his mood. He was swearing as much as he ever did, but it was good-natured and funny instead of fucking terrifying. He was smiling, too, and not the terrifying smile that preceded a particularly brutal bollocking. This smile took twenty years off his appearance. It made him seem like a different man entirely.</p><p>He was just—relaxed. For once. It was a <em>very</em> good look on him.</p><p>Nicola had to admit that she’d been harbouring a bit of a crush on the sweary Scotsman of late. She hadn’t acknowledged it—not even to herself—until earlier that evening, long after he’d come in and actually given her some mild praise.</p><p>It had hit her when they’d all headed down to the hotel bar together and she’d been sat across the table from him. She’d watched with surprise as he genuinely laughed at a few of Ollie’s jokes, and then apologised quite sincerely to Glenn a few times, clapping the older man on the shoulder.</p><p>They’d felt like a team, finally, for the first time since she’d been appointed. They’d been laughing and joking together, an occurrence that happened so very rarely. More often than not they were instead at each other’s throats, dodging responsibility for the latest fuck-up and trying to keep out of Malcolm’s firing line.</p><p>This easy camaraderie was so foreign to her that it’d even been slightly strange at the beginning. But as the drinks had flowed, the adrenaline had faded, and everything had become a lot more fun, she’d just gone with it.</p><p>And seeing Malcolm his element, with no more schemes to scheme, finally having some time to himself, had thrown her a little. He’d just appeared to be a normal man. A <em>pleasant </em>man, even, with a wicked sense of humour and obvious affection for the people he was with.</p><p>And seeing him like that, as an actual person, had given her a little, almost voyeuristic thrill. It was like she’d stopped at his home after hours and found him rumpled and domestic in a ‘FELLATE THE COOK’ apron. And it suited him so well that she realised that <em>this</em> was the real Malcolm, not the angry harbinger of doom that Whitehall forced him to be.</p><p>Tonight, he was merely a charming, hilarious, lanky, grey-haired Scot in a tux. He was no longer her oppressor. And, as the night went on, she was starting to find him, with tinges of concern at the thought of it, more and more attractive.</p><p>And it didn’t hurt that she’d caught him staring a few times, his eyes regarding her shrewdly, as if he, too, were seeing her in a different light.</p><p>After the dinner, and then visiting a few other suites, they all converged in her room. He’d barely taken his eyes off her in the hours since they’d gotten up here. Nicola’s heart thudded audibly in her ears every time his blue-grey eyes alit on her, occasionally travelling up and down her body like he was imagining exactly what was under the green thigh-length dress she’d changed into after the speech.</p><p>If she hadn’t been drunk, she would have been a little terrified at Malcolm’s interest. <em>He </em>was still a little terrifying to her. And she’d never even seen him express interest in someone romantically. Was that what this was? He was breaking his ostensible vow of chastity for <em>her</em>?</p><p>She knew, from interrogating Terri and the other two, that he’d been divorced for years but still wore his ring. She wondered, idly, what that marriage had been like. What kind of husband he’d been. Her guess was that he’d probably been an absent one, much too dedicated to his job to give his wife the attention she deserved.</p><p>But, despite all that, whatever <em>this</em> was intrigued her. It had been a long time since a man had shown interest in her, and that included her own oft-distracted and oft-absent husband. And James Murray was no Malcolm Tucker. He didn’t have the humour or the passion, the intelligence or the shrewdness of the man in front of her. Her lip curled at that, thinking of the tall mass of flesh that was her husband. All dark hair and brown eyes, he was broad-chested and beefy now, a once-fit athlete now gone to seed.</p><p>He was Malcolm’s opposite in so many ways.</p><p>She downed her drink, getting up to get another one of the lagers that Ollie had managed to jam into the tiny fridge.</p><p>And if Ollie himself had noticed their little tête-a-tête, he hadn’t said anything. He probably <em>couldn’t</em> say anything, as he was currently nearly face-down in his own lap.</p><p>“Oi! Christopher Robin!” Malcolm said, slapping the younger man on the shoulder. “Head to bed before you carpet burn your face!”</p><p>Ollie started awake, looking at the two of them like a disoriented kitten.</p><p>“What—did I pass out?” Ollie asked.</p><p>“Yes, you fucking did,” Malcolm said. He made a show of checking his watch. “Now fuck off to bed. I want you back in Glenn’s room to brief at nine-thirty. Now, get!”</p><p>Ollie groaned, grabbing his half-drunk can of lager and loping out of the room like an addled giraffe. Nicola had expected Malcolm to leave as well, but he just turned back to her, his grey eyes observing her appreciably.</p><p>“Did you really like the speech?” she asked, hearing the slur in her words but not caring.</p><p>“Aye,” he said. “I mean, no. The speech was shit. But you sold it.” He sipped at his can of lager thoughtfully. “You were confident. Don’t know <em>why</em> you were, but when you are, Nic’la, you’re—well, amazing’s too strong a word—compelling? How’s that? Genuine?”</p><p>“I’ll take it,” she said, grinning. She took a hefty swig of her drink.</p><p>“So, <em>why </em>were you so confident all of a sudden? Because if you could be like that <em>all the fuckin’ time, </em>my job would be a whole lot fuckin’ easier<em>.</em>”</p><p>“I don’t know,” she said, shrugging. She sat back in her chair and crossed her legs at the knee. “I just feel good here. You know? I’m away from James. The kids are at home and my mum’s with them. So that means safe and, you know, <em>out of my hair.</em>” She laughed stupidly, and Malcolm gave her a crooked smile.</p><p>“Your husband the source of all this—” he said, gesturing vaguely in her direction.</p><p>“I didn’t say that,” Nicola said, even while knowing it was total shit.</p><p>“How is your marriage?” Malcolm asked, narrowing his eyes at her.</p><p>“What is this—Jeremy Kyle?” she asked. “Malcolm, you’ve got no right to ask me that.”</p><p>“What, you think I’m going to use it against you?”</p><p>She scoffed. “I wouldn’t be surprised. You who had me standing strategically in front of Liam Bentley’s sign so you could bully me into sending Ella to that school that she hates.”</p><p>Malcolm just gave a nonchalant little shrug, his mild expression giving nothing away. She rolled her eyes.</p><p>“I know it was you, Malcolm. Who else could have been so Machiavellian?”</p><p>“You see, this,” he said, gesturing toward her, “this is what I’m talking about. You’re an intelligent lady, Nic’la. More than that, you see people, you <em>read </em>people. Your policy is actually not that fucking bad, but what you lack is the confidence and the skills to get it <em>out</em> there! And out there in a way that makes it appealing to the people.” He took a large draught of his drink and burped discreetly. “And your staff are fuckin' shit.”</p><p>“I know,” she said, sighing deeply. “I feel awful saying it, but Glenn and Ollie, <em>and </em>Terri most of the time, inspire very little confidence in me.”</p><p>“Well, they’re terrible,” he said. He shrugged his slim shoulders. “Not Ollie. He’s only mildly incompetent. Learned helplessness, I believe they call it. But Glenn.” He cocked his head. “Destined for the scrapheap.”</p><p>“But we can’t fire him.”</p><p>“No,” he said. “But we do need to capitalise on this success. <em>You </em>need to find that zone you had out there today and you need to be <em>in it</em> whenever you’re in the public eye.”</p><p>“Well,” she said, sighing. “That’s a tall order.”</p><p>“Well, we’ll see what we can do,” he said, cryptically, and crossing his arms in front of him.</p><p>Nicola smiled. “Okay, then.”</p><p>Malcolm gave her a little smile. Then he shifted in his chair.</p><p>“How <em>is </em>your marriage?”</p><p>“Malcolm—”</p><p>“No, I’m not going to use it against you,” he said, his tone level. “This is friend to friend, here.”</p><p>“Is that what we are? Friends?”</p><p>“Sure,” he said, letting out a breath. “I mean, it’s not like I’ve got any, so I wouldn’t know.”</p><p>She laughed softly. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll be your friend.”</p><p>Malcolm smiled mildly and gave her a nod. “Now, marriage. Answer.”</p><p>“All right." She sighed, heavily. "Well, James and I met on a blind date, actually. I’d just broken up with my boyfriend from university and a friend of mine set us up. I don’t know, we sort of clicked. At least, I thought he was kind of charming. Looking back, I suppose I was just terrified of being alone. I was hurting and on the rebound and he wanted to get married and start a family, and since I was in my mid-twenties, and the pressure was on, I said yes.” She took a deep breath, leaning back in her chair.</p><p>“It went fine at first. We had a lot of fun with Katie. She was the apple of our eyes. But then he got promoted, and he was home less and less. And then Ella was born and I was kind of—trapped. I was working less and less and stuck at home changing nappies and putting plasters on scraped knees, and I couldn’t do it anymore. So, I got childcare for them both. I had been involved with local politics for awhile, so, on a friend’s suggestions, I stood as a candidate in the council elections and I won.</p><p>“Well, James didn’t like that. He wanted me home with the children and that was that. I didn’t listen. I was never going to be a stay-at-home mum, and he knew that. If anything, having my kids made me want to more involved in making decisions that would affect them. I’d been in council for a few years when someone suggested running for parliament. I jumped at the chance. You know, making a difference at the national level. It’s what I’d always wanted to do. I mean, Josh was just a baby back then but, it didn't matter. I stood and I won. I was<em> so</em> happy, Malcolm!”</p><p>She looked up at him and he gave her a quick smile.</p><p>“But James was livid. He wouldn’t show it, but I could tell. Things changed after that. James was under the impression that having a young baby would keep me home. But it didn’t. It’s not like MPs get maternity leave. As soon as he was old enough, I sent him to childcare with his sisters and went back to work. And since then it’s been a bit of a nightmare, really. Ben was a surprise. I think we only had sex twice that year.” She scoffed, hazarding a glance at Malcolm. To her surprise he wasn’t asleep, but had actually leaned forward a little, listening intently.</p><p>“We don’t talk, Malcolm,” she said. “He works, I work. Sex is reserved only for special occasions. He’s a shit father, so my mother watches the kids a lot of the time. He’s barely home and when he is, he ignores them. Well, he tolerates them, I suppose. Orders them around like they’re his<em> fucking</em> employees. I can’t depend on him for anything. I don’t love him anymore. I don’t even like him.” She took a deep, ragged breath, surprised at the depth of the enmity that had come out of her. Slightly embarrassed, she looked up at Malcolm, her hand coming up to cover her mouth in horror. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have—”</p><p>“Is that the truth?” he asked, his tone brooking no argument.</p><p>After a long while, she nodded.</p><p>“Then I’m very fucking sorry you’ve been saddled with that fuckin’ sack of fuckin’ excrement. No wonder you’re such a fuckin’ mess.”</p><p>“Malcolm—”</p><p>“No,” he said, eyes blazing. He leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his legs, eyebrows knit together furiously. “He sounds like a Grade-A prick, Nic’la. He’s worn away your self-esteem and your confidence. Which I’m sure is part of the reason you down that fuckin’ Rescue Remedy like it’s Jacob’s Creek. I bet he wasn’t even proud of you when you were made Minister?”</p><p>Nicola couldn’t answer. Instead, she looked down at her hands and at the gold rings she wore.</p><p>“Bastard,” Malcolm said, with no lack of vitriol. “You deserve a man who lifts you up instead of bringing you down.”</p><p>His voice was softer than it’d been all night, and she looked up at him, her chest aching at how <em>nice</em> it was to have someone in your corner. She cleared her throat, trying to keep the tears burning the corners of her eyes at bay.</p><p>“Well, tell me if you find one,” she said, laughing insipidly, a misguided attempt to lighten the mood.</p><p>“Aye,” he said, his voice cracking. She frowned at him. <em>Does he actually care?  </em>she wondered, idly. He looked disturbed at her revelations, and it was very confusing to her.</p><p>Suddenly the room started getting a little stuffy and the walls started closing in on her. She just couldn’t sit there with him looking at her anymore. She couldn’t deal with him being<em> nice</em>.</p><p>She stood up, and registered Malcolm’s momentary surprise.</p><p>“I—need to urinate,” she said. Then she turned and made for the bathroom, slamming the door behind her and locking it.</p><p>“What the fuck are you doing?” she whispered to her reflection in the mirror. “You don’t give Malcolm Tucker any ammunition.”</p><p>She pulled down her tights and pants and rucked up her skirt, sitting down on the toilet seat. Christ, she needed to get him out of here. She needed to go to sleep<em> right now</em><em>—alone, </em>before she did or said something she was going to regret.</p><p>She washed her hands after peeing and fixed her skirt. A glance in the mirror told her that she looked like shit, but she tried taming her thick locks anyway. Her makeup had all but worn off by now, and her cheeks were generously flushed. She looked, and was, quite pissed. Sighing, she turned and opened the door.</p><p>And she nearly screamed.</p><p>Malcolm was standing on the other side of it, his eyes lidded and dark.</p><p>“Malcolm!” she said. “You scared me.”</p><p>He didn’t answer. Instead he took two steps forward, encroaching on her personal space. Cold spikes of fear pushed through the alcohol haze, and she backed up infinitesimally, but still held her ground.</p><p>“Malcolm, what—”</p><p>“Tell me to stop,” he said, his blue eyes meeting hers, “and I will.” His voice was measured, calm. It belied his slightly unnerving intrusion into her personal space.</p><p>But still, she was finding it suddenly hard to breathe. <em>This isn’t happening</em>, she thought. Malcolm Tucker didn’t want <em>her. </em>He’d spent the past few months disparaging her looks and her hair, her mood and her competence. He didn’t even <em>like </em>her, let alone <em>want her</em> in this way.</p><p>But he did. She could see it in his eyes. That indescribable look he’d been giving her since after the bar. She could see it now. It was want. And made her feel like she was on fire.</p><p><em>No,</em> she thought, even as his proximity elicited a terrifying thrill in her, <em>we shouldn’t do this.</em></p><p>But he stepped forward, his hands going to rest on either side of her waist, and she let him. He’d discarded his jacket and bow-tie, and she could feel the warmth radiating off of him through the stiff cotton of his shirt. Their breaths were mingling, his eyes roaming all over her face and neck, taking her in as if she was going to disappear any moment.</p><p>“Nic’la,” he said, his mouth just inches from hers, now. “Just say no and I’ll go. We don’t ever have to talk about this again.” She could smell the alcohol and his aftershave and that smell that was just him—spicy and sharp and enticing, all in one.</p><p>He was too close; she could barely breathe, never mind speak. Her hands went to his chest instead, her thumbs caressing the firm plane of it. She looked up at him and smiled.</p><p>“I can’t—tell you that,” she said, and he kissed her.</p><p>It was—incredible. She was being consumed by him, his mouth hot and keen against hers, his lips surprisingly soft and lush. His hands found her arse and squeezed it until she gasped, chuckling into her mouth as she clutched at his shirt. She felt the bathroom counter press against her back, and Malcolm’s burgeoning erection press against her front.</p><p>It was too much. She pulled away, her heart hammering away inside her chest, panting like a dog in heat.</p><p>Malcolm smiled wolfishly at her and she felt it go straight to her groin.</p><p>“Malcolm,” she breathed, and he lowered his head, leaning his forehead against hers.</p><p>“All righ’?” he breathed back. She nodded and pulled away a little to look at him. </p><p>His mask was gone, need and want plain on his face. The ego was gone, too. This was just him, now. Not Malcolm Fucking Tucker, bollocker extraordinaire. Just Malcolm. And he wanted this as much as she did. <em>Needed</em> it as much as she did.</p><p>And she <em>did </em>need it. It’d been months since James had touched her. She couldn’t even remember when it had been. Sometime in the spring? And here was Malcolm, her colleague with whom she had somewhat of a rapport—when they weren’t at each other’s throats—and he wanted<em> her</em>.</p><p>She reached down to grasp at the rings on her left hand, twisting them off of her finger. Malcolm looked down when he realised what she was doing, and watched as she placed the two gold rings on the bathroom counter, the clatter of the metal the only noise in the room.</p><p>Malcolm looked up at her, his expression guarded, and pulled his own gold band off the long ring finger of his left hand, then placed it on the counter next to hers.</p><p>“I’m not proud of this, Malcolm,” she said, her voice a whisper. His hands were back around her waist already, and she had to crane her neck to see his face in her stocking feet.</p><p>“You don’ have to be proud of it, Nic’la,” he said, shrugging one slim shoulder. His hand travelled lower, cupping one arsecheek and giving it a squeeze. “For fuck’s sakes woman, just—enjoy yourself for once.”</p><p>She nodded, smiling as she tilted her face up towards his. Then she fisted one hand in the starched fabric at his neck and pulled his head down and his lips onto hers.</p><p>And then they were backing up through the bathroom door, her hands on the shirtfront, frantically undoing the buttons. His hands were at her back, too, scrabbling around, looking for the zip on her dress.</p><p>She smiled into his mouth when the bed bumped up behind her legs, and she pulled his shirt and undershirt out from his trousers and off of him, chucking them over back the way they'd come.</p><p>Malcolm finally did find the zip on her dress, and she shivered as his fingers brushed against the bare skin on her back, the fabric loosening around her before it was a green pool on the carpet.</p><p>“Still alrigh’?” he asked, breathlessly. Her hands went to the front of his trousers and he hissed at the contact.</p><p>“What do you think?” she asked, deftly undoing his belt and the catch of his trousers so that they fell to the floor around him. His breath hitched as her hand brushed softly against his belly before slipping beneath the waistband of his boxers and taking hold of his swollen cock.</p><p>Malcolm couldn’t answer, for once. He just closed his eyes and let out a breath, almost a sigh, as her hand slowly slid down the length of him. She watched his face intently, still not quite able to believe that it was actually happening.</p><p>“Nic’la,” he finally said, leaning down to kiss her, and her tummy did a little flip at hearing him say her name that way. Softly. Reverently, even.</p><p>At last, he seemed to come out of his handjob-induced haze and reached his arms around her to unhook her bra, skilfully working the clasp and pulling the garment off of her as she reluctantly withdrew her hand from his pants.</p><p>He took her in momentarily, and she felt herself flush as his keen eyes roved over her half-naked form for the first time. Then he pulled her against him, and she felt her breasts press against his bare chest, hot skin on hot skin. It felt so good to be this close to him, his surprising heat warming her slightly-cooler skin.</p><p>She had to admit that she would’ve thought he ran cold, as he tended to embody a bloodless reanimated corpse on a daily basis, but as he kissed her again fiercely, she supposed the heat suited him better.</p><p>She could feel his hands ghosting across her back and settling at the waistband of her tights and pants, his thumbs slipping inside. And then, he had said undergarments down over her hips and arse and mid-thigh in a heartbeat, and she aided him, pushing them down to her knees and then stepping out of them somewhat awkwardly as they clung to her feet.</p><p>And then she was naked, bared before him for the first time in the dim lamplight of this mid-budget seaside hotel. She hadn’t been naked in front of anyone other than her doctor or her husband since university, but the hunger in Malcolm’s eyes as he looked her up and down quelled any sort of fear she might have over the state of her body. Because, well, he <em>had </em>been right about the stretch marks.</p><p>But Malcolm didn’t seem to care. Instead, he led her to the bed, pushing her down atop the bedspread and helping her to budge up until her head reached the pillows.</p><p>Then, his knees bracketing her hips, he looked down at her. His blue eyes, somehow darker than she’d ever seen them, were positively wanton with need.</p><p>“Last chance to back out,” he said, cheekily, but she could tell he was serious. This was him making sure—he had to know he had her consent.</p><p>She smiled at his earnestness and sat up so that so that their faces were closer, taking in his flushed cheeks, mussed hair, and swollen lips with a smile. He looked utterly undone, and it was something she could get used to.</p><p>“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, and nodded. He smiled, and then, and in a flash, he lent down and his mouth was on hers, pushing her back against the pillows.</p><p>Her hands found themselves at the waistband of his boxers and he inhaled sharply, pulling away from the kiss.</p><p>“Not yet,” he said, against her ear, very delicately kissing the side of her neck. Then he was slowly kissing his way down her neck and shoulders, a moan escaping her as his mouth closed over one nipple, pinching it dexterously between his teeth.</p><p>And then she could feel his long fingers ghost over her hip and then press against her mound, her breath quickening as his fingers toyed with her opening.</p><p>She was already soaking—of course she was. It’d been months, and this was <em>Malcolm. </em>Malcolm who she could go toe-to-toe with, who’d driven her mad and yet who still seemed to want her succeed. Malcolm, who excited her as much as he infuriated her.</p><p>One long finger slipped deep inside, encountering very little resistance, and she could only exhale at the perfect pressure she felt. Then he slipped another in, as well, and his thumb pressed against her clit.  </p><p>“Malcolm!” she whispered fervently, and she could hear him laugh as his fingers curled upwards inside her.</p><p>Then, without warning, he replaced his thumb with his mouth. Then she really did cry out, as his mouth sucked at her clit with expert skill. She simply hoped no one important was in the room next to hers.</p><p>From there on, she couldn’t remember much, too ensconced in the haze of pleasure, focusing only on her body’s response to the rhythm of his long, strong fingers inside of her, pressing up against the sensitive nub from the inside while his mouth worked on it from the outside. Her hands were in his hair, too, her nails scratching against his scalp as she took handfuls of thick, surprisingly soft hair.</p><p>It didn’t take long—she came with a cry, quivering around his fingers as his mouth rode out her orgasm. Her whole body had gone almost numb, hands and legs shaky. She was also fairly certain she couldn’t see.</p><p>“I should’ve known you’d be a screamer,” said a roughened Scottish voice, and it took her a moment to realise that it was Malcolm speaking, and that he was lying next to her on the bed.</p><p>She could only smile, shaking her head at him. To his credit, he leaned forward and kissed her, aware that she could barely form words, and the taste of her on his lips sent a flush of warmth back to her throbbing groin.</p><p>And like that, she was back, and her hands were at Malcolm’s waistband.</p><p>“Malcolm,” she said, against his lips, “please—”</p><p>“Just a second, darlin’,” he said, and there was a rustle of clothing as he pulled off the boxer shorts, reaching over the edge of the bed for something. It was then that she realised it was a condom, and that it’d been in the pocket of his discarded trousers.</p><p>“You had a condom with you?” she asked, as he ripped at the edge of the foil with his teeth. “Did you plan this?” Suddenly, she felt the lazy post-orgasmic haze start to clear up like fog on a sunny day. What—had he asked her those questions about James just so he could get her in—</p><p>“Nicola!” he said, loudly, and she looked up at him. “Whatever you’re thinkin’, stop,” he said, his eyebrows knit together. Even completely nude and as gaunt as a heroin addict, he still managed to look intimidating. “I always carry a condom at Conference,” he said, like she was stupid to question it. “Christ, it’s usually the only time of year I actually get laid.”</p><p>“Really?” she asked, suddenly curious. “Who? Anyone I know?”</p><p>“Nicola!” he growled, finally ripping open the foil packet and pulling out the little latex disc with his forefinger and thumb, chucking the wrapper into the bin.</p><p>“Angela Heaney?”</p><p>“God, what? No!” he said, sounding disgusted. “Like I’d stick my prick anywhere Ollie’s has been.” He held out the rolled-up condom toward her, shaking it so that it flopped around lewdly in her face. “Now do you want me to fuck you or not? Because all the talk of Ollie and Angela Heaney is makin’ my cock shrivel up like a deflated balloon!”</p><p>“Looks fine to me,” Nicola said, because it really was quite impressive how he managed to retain an erection while the two of them squabbled like schoolchildren. Or—maybe it was because he actually got off on it. <em>Hmm.</em></p><p>“Oh, it’s more than fine,” he said, placing the condom at its tip and beginning to unfurl it over the length of him. She rolled her eyes, laying her head back against the pillows.</p><p>Malcolm moved to straddle her, his actually rather muscular thighs straining as he positioned himself over her slightly spread legs. She was still soaking wet, and when she felt him nudge her opening, she couldn’t help but moan at how good it felt. <em>Christ, she'd needed this.</em></p><p>And then, supporting himself on his forearms, he leaned forward to kiss her again, no less fiercely than the first time he’d done it. He eased himself inside her as he kissed her, and Nicola spread her legs wider, arching her back a little to accommodate his girth.</p><p>And then, when he was completely sheathed inside her, she was breathless. She’d never felt filled like this before, not with any man she’d ever been with. As corny as it sounded—they really did fit together perfectly.</p><p>He pulled back from her lips, his hips not moving an inch.</p><p>“All righ’?” he asked. She smiled.</p><p>“More than all right,” she said, he smiled, too, his hips angling back slowly as he pulled out a little. And then he was sliding back in, and it was the most delicious friction she’d ever felt, this slow, torturous pace.</p><p>But it didn’t stay slow for long. Once they'd adjusted to each other and had figured out a rhythm, she soon had her legs wrapped around his hips as he drove into her incessantly. Both of them were sticky with sweat, Malcolm whispering filthy, filthy things into her ear as he fucked her.</p><p>It was relentless, and perfect. She drove her hips upward to meet his thrusts, keeping pace with him like it was one of their little spats, never backing down. And it wasn’t long before she could feel the warmth returning, the pressure building. And judging by the way Malcolm’s breathing had quickened, he was close, too.</p><p>Somehow sensing this, she felt him reach one hand between them and thumb her clit again, and Nicola moaned loudly into his mouth. He pressed, and circled, giving just the perfect amount of gentle pressure as he continued his bruising pace.</p><p>“Nic’la,” he whispered, and she was gone, shuddering against him, her walls fluttering around him, and then he moaned once, in her ear. She felt his body go rigid above her, his cock twitching and convulsing inside her. She held him against her tightly as they rode out their respective orgasms, breathing together as they slowly came back down to earth.</p><p>After that, not much was said. The condom was disposed of, and then they lay together, exhausted and completely sated, the sweat drying on their skin. Nicola was trying very hard to not think about the fact that she was married. And also about how she’d just maybe possibly had the best sex of her life with Downing Street’s Director of Communications. And that it had almost been—nice?</p><p>As Malcolm reached over to switch off the lamp, she was almost surprised. She was even more surprised when he pulled the covers out from under them and then over them, cuddling up behind her and wrapping an arm around her waist. She hadn’t expected him to stay.</p><p>“Malcolm—” she whispered.</p><p>“Don’,” he said, sounding like he was already half asleep. “I told you, Nic’la. Just enjoy it, yeah?”</p><p>She sighed and settled into his embrace, smiling a little as he pulled her back flush against his front.</p><p>“Good night, Malcolm,” she said, actually starting to feel sleepy. The sex and the warmth and booze and the late hour were a heady brew.</p><p>“Goo’ nigh’, Nic’la,” came Malcolm’s sleep-thickened response.</p><p>Nicola listened as his breathing evened out, taking deep breaths of her own to quell the stupid anxiety that even copious amounts of alcohol hadn’t managed to dull. <em>You needed this. You deserve this.</em> It was a mantra she repeated over and over until she felt better.</p><p>And then she smiled as she felt Malcolm's body against her as he slept, his steady breaths pushing his chest against her back. It was comforting. Intimate. It had no right to be, but it was.  </p><p>So, she closed her eyes. Sleep wasn’t far behind.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So thank you, first of all, to all the writers of N/M fic out there. I LOVE you all, and I've read like every single one on the site. So the writers I have dedicated this fic to-your writing/ideas are what inspired me to write this. And I'm sorry if something in this fic was inspired by something you wrote and it's very obvious--please take it as a compliment!</p><p>I will preface by saying this is very personal to me because I spent two of the craziest and best years of my life working as a Cabinet Minister's assistant in a Canadian provincial government, and let me tell you that this show has validated my experience in a way nothing else ever has. I will say, though, that we were almost hyper-competent in comparison and that some of that has inspired me to fix some of the broken ways this fictional government and the staff do things. But, yes, it is a fucking shitshow nightmare, and the whole Dan Miller Cabal thing ACTUALLY HAPPENED to us and it was awful. But it was the best thing I've ever done and I can't wait to go back. When we get back in. Lol.</p><p>And also, just a note that I've made Series 3 to take place from July 2009 to April 2010, which makes sense when compared with the real-life events it is satirizing. And I think that it makes more sense in terms of characterization and the storyline of the show to take place over a longer period.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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